Spider Loves Butterfly
by nosleep3
Summary: You always think that because you read minds, you know everything." Edward/Bella, one-shot. A description of what it might have been like, had Edward had his way.


**Disclaimer: **I own no characters. But then again, I don't name any characters, do I?

You always think that because you read minds, you know everything. You think there's nothing left to learn about human nature; you've heard it all and then some, ad nauseam. You think you know what's best for everyone because you can hear all the players involved, all the secrets and lies, all the hidden agendas. You're above it all, an arachnid among dreary little gnats, and you don't let it touch you, and you don't let anyone in, because you believe you have no equal, and you don't need one anyway.

And then you meet her, the silent-minded one, young and brilliant, colorful wings blossoming before your eyes, and she's not afraid of you, not impressed with your high opinion of yourself, not intimidated by your good looks or your intelligence like everyone else, not averse to you as any other normal person would be. You look at her and suddenly you don't quite know everything after all. She's the first real mystery you've come across in decades, not open to your mental probing, her behavior different from all the normal patterns by a wide margin, and you have to resort to stratagems and eavesdropping to piece together her character and background. You want her in ways you've never wanted anyone, to feast on her blood, to ravish her body, to join with her soul, all at once with equal parts joy. And you can't have any of those things, especially not the joy, because although she's different from the rest of the swarm of insects, she's still too different from you, and you tell yourself it would be wrong to have her on any level, too great a risk, too terrible a gamble. And so you try to push away, telling her and yourself that it's for the best. For her own good. For yours, too. For everyone. She says hello, and you pretend to reject her.

The enigma tortures you daily. But you, you stand firm. You tell yourself it's not relevant, even though it is. You secretly obsess. You want to know more, solve the riddle, plumb the depths, but you can't just tell her that's what this is. You're supposed to be ignoring her for her own good, remember? You're supposed to be strong. You're supposed to not care, although it's become obvious to others that you do, that this matters, that she matters.

And then one day, it's just too much. You can't resist the lure anymore, though you've tried so hard, although truthfully, you haven't tried at all. You only tried to hide your quiet infatuation from everyone else, when really you weren't fooling anyone, and now it's too late. You're the spider caught in a web of your own making, and she's the butterfly caught right along with you but just out of reach, and you're both enmeshed in this thing, whatever it is, and you stop struggling, thinking that will make you less tangled, but it doesn't. You both grow still in the web and gaze longingly at each other, predator and prey, enthralled with each other's foreign beauty. And even though you still want to consume her, you know you won't. And even though you still want to make love to her, you're sure you can't. And all that's left of your Triple Crown desire is the joining of souls, even though you never thought you had one. You want that to be enough, you hope it can be, but you don't expect her to accept it when you ask her. But she says yes.

Yes.

And so you stay together, merrily trapped in this web, staring, talking, learning each other in a way that transcends physical needs, or at least that's what you think. But the needs are still there, and you can't ignore them, though you try. And she tells you she wants more, too, but that she'll stay with you in whatever way she can have you. Because she loves you, and she knows you love her, and maybe she's always known or maybe she hasn't, but you've always known that's where this was headed, and you'll do whatever you can to keep her here in this web with you, souls joined but never touching, glorying in each other's limitless devotion.

She says she wants to be a beautiful, graceful spider like you. She'll do anything for it, but you won't let her. Because you know best. You know it would be wrong, an abomination. Butterflies can't be spiders. So you tell her no. You love her, but no, you're sorry, it's just not possible. She can ask you for anything else in the world, she can ask you to take her any place she's of a mind to go, but she cannot ask you to make her belong on this web as your predatory equal, an ugly killer like you. And it makes her sad, but she puts on a brave face for you, because she wants you to be happy even if it means she gives up just a few things, and she's trying to be patient, and every day you tell her she's absolutely perfect the way she is, and she believes you.

And ten years go by, and she's lovelier than ever, her wings straight and vibrant and strong, and you're so glad you didn't make her into a spider or consume her as nature dictated, because you would have missed this. And she tells you she's ready to be a spider, that surely now is the right time, and you tell her no. She sighs but tells you it's okay, she can wait, because she loves you, and she knows you're good, even if you don't know it yourself. And you give her many gifts and voyage to amazing destinations together, and she continues to surprise you with the outrageous things she says, her mind always taking you to new places, your mouth always bursting into a sharp-toothed smile in response.

And twenty years go by, and she's still gorgeous and kaleidoscopic, and you won't give in to her request, even though she acquiesces to all of yours just to be with you a little longer. And you give her any little thing she expresses the slightest bit of admiration for, hoping it will keep her there with you as you wander, even as she tells you she's completely mesmerized by you, your whole self. And every day holds a new, fascinating conversation, and you revel in every word, and you still enjoy the mystery of her, and you laugh, and you're happy.

And thirty years go by, and the colors on her wings start to fade, but you don't notice, because to you she's ever a glorious, opulent creature, while you're endlessly hideous and many-eyed and unchanging. And still she remains at your side on your never-ending journey, still she loves you, listens to you, tells you you're elegant and sublime, shares her essence with you. And you enjoy the warm night air together, the stars and moonlight that are brighter to your eyes than hers. And there's a mountain of presents in every corner, treasures great and small that you've lavished on her. And your heart is full of joy at this wonderful life you've crafted together.

And then one day you discover her wings have started to crumble, and she's not playing with the toys you've given her, and she's not smiling with you, and her eyes are clouding over, and she's saying less and less until it's not just her mind that's silent anymore. And you're surprised.

Frustrated and tired, she informs you in a voice you don't recognize that it's been forty-seven years. She tells you that you've moved her here and there and every place in between, dragging her all over the earth, never settling down in one place. And she didn't mind the roving existence, exactly, because she was always with you, always precious to you, but she did mind being treated like she was too delicate, like she wasn't allowed to change, when in fact changing was all she ever did, and you never paid attention. She was happy to go on loving your soul, but she wanted everything else, too, every part of you, and you never let her have it, never let her choose, because you knew best, you remembered all the hidden agendas and secrets and lies in the world, you knew all about the folly of human nature, you were so sure she was pleading for an irreversible mistake she'd only regret later. You knew everything there was to know except that this was no way to treat someone you love, like a suitcase on your many travels, stuffed with meaningless trinkets and souvenirs, waiting in the airport storage locker or the baggage claim while you had your adventures.

She says most of her life is gone, all her vitality vanished with her best years, and she missed out on all the things she actually wanted and gave up for you, never mind the things you foisted upon her that she had no interest in.

Her devotion isn't limitless anymore, but only because you imposed all the limits. And she says she's had enough, that you've taken from her everything you intended to give, and she resents you for it, for consuming her soul the way you desired her blood, for draining her instead of nourishing her. She didn't want you to admire her from a distance her whole life, to look at her like a perfect, multi-faceted diamond that belonged in a padlocked box in a secret vault. She wanted to be loved as an equal, not on a pedestal and not under your feet. And you never did love her the way she needed you to, and it's too late to change that now. She doesn't want to be a spider anymore. Or a butterfly.

And she packs up her own luggage, leaving all your worthless bribes and tokens behind, and you protest, but she ignores you, doesn't listen, doesn't care. You vow to do anything she wants, you beg her to stay just a little longer, to share her soul with you for even a few moments more. But she says no.

No.

She wishes you to have a nice life, but she can't hope for the same for herself anymore, because she's been waiting in this web for so long, and now it's too late—her wings are gone. She tells you you're not really a spider, and that she's never been a butterfly. She doesn't bother to say goodbye. And you never see her again.

And you realize that you never really knew anything at all.


End file.
